We expect all our businesses to have a positive impact on our top

Host: The morning sun pierced through the glass walls of the office tower, flooding the conference room with a sharp, white light. Below, the city roared — cars, horns, and hustle — the endless pulse of commerce echoing in every direction. The air inside was still, thick with the faint hum of computers and the faint aroma of burnt coffee.

Jack stood near the window, his hands in his pockets, his grey eyes scanning the skyline. Across the sleek glass table sat Jeeny, a folder open before her, papers neatly aligned. Her expression was calm, but her eyes burned with quiet conviction.

It was the quarterly review meeting — but beneath the spreadsheets, there was something else in the air: a question of what all this striving really meant.

Jeeny: “Jeff Bezos once said, ‘We expect all our businesses to have a positive impact on our top and bottom lines. Profitability is very important to us or we wouldn’t be in this business.’”

She closed the folder gently, her voice steady but soft. “I’ve always wondered, Jack — is that all there is to business? The top and bottom lines?”

Jack: (turning from the window) “That’s exactly what business is, Jeeny. If it doesn’t make money, it dies. Passion doesn’t pay rent. Ideas don’t keep the lights on.”

Host: His tone was measured, but his words carried the weight of hard-earned cynicism. He moved closer, resting a hand on the table, the faint reflection of the city flickering across his watch.

Jeeny: “And yet, everything that ever mattered started with something that wasn’t profitable at first — art, education, even the internet itself. Do we measure worth only in numbers now?”

Jack: “You’re comparing poetry to profit, Jeeny. Business isn’t a monastery. It’s survival — scale, competition, margins. Jeff Bezos didn’t build Amazon on dreams. He built it on systems that worked.”

Jeeny: “But those systems only worked because they gave people something real — access, connection, opportunity. Isn’t that impact just as important as revenue?”

Jack: “Impact without profit is philanthropy. And philanthropy without profit dies with the donor.”

Host: A pause fell between them. The light shifted slightly as a cloud passed, dimming the sharp edges of the room. Jeeny’s hands folded over one another, her nails tapping lightly on the folder’s cover.

Jeeny: “You sound like the city itself, Jack. Efficient. Relentless. Always moving forward, but never asking why.”

Jack: “Because asking why doesn’t change the math. Look, every company that forgets profit ends up a cautionary tale. Remember Kodak? Blockbuster? They had culture, identity, nostalgia — all beautiful words. But they didn’t adapt, didn’t think like capitalists. They died with full hearts and empty wallets.”

Jeeny: (leaning forward) “And yet, Bezos also said something else — that long-term thinking is essential, even if it means sacrificing short-term profit. The irony is, his empire was built not on greed, but on patience.”

Jack: “Patience doesn’t mean bleeding cash, Jeeny. It means investing smartly. You don’t get to build a rocket company or an online marketplace by hugging ideals. You do it by understanding the arithmetic of ambition.”

Jeeny: “But what good is ambition if it only serves itself? If we measure success only by numbers, we risk forgetting the human equation. The people behind the data, the workers behind the margins, the planet behind the products.”

Host: The room grew still. Her words seemed to hang in the air, visible, heavy — like the first drop of rain before a storm.

Jack: “The human equation doesn’t survive if the company collapses. You can’t feed ethics on debt, Jeeny. Try running payroll on empathy.”

Jeeny: “And yet, empathy is the reason people stay. It’s why teams fight through impossible deadlines, why customers trust brands. Without it, your profits are just digits in the void.”

Host: A tension flickered between them — the kind that comes not from anger, but from deep, unresolved belief. The city sounds faded behind the glass, replaced by the low hum of the office lights.

Jack: “You think capitalism can be kind?”

Jeeny: “I think it must be — or it destroys itself. Every great collapse in history started with the same blindness: profit without conscience. Rome, Wall Street, the oil empires — they all fell when they forgot the people who made them rich.”

Jack: “So what do you propose? That we give away our margins for moral comfort?”

Jeeny: “I propose we remember why we started. Business isn’t just about surviving — it’s about creating something worth surviving for.”

Host: Her voice cracked slightly, not from weakness, but from the strain of truth. Jack said nothing, his eyes on the spreadsheet, but his mind far from it.

Jack: (after a long silence) “You know, when I first started this firm, I thought like you. I wanted to make a difference — hire people who believed in something more than numbers. But the market doesn’t reward belief. It rewards performance.”

Jeeny: “And yet, here you are, still quoting Bezos — a man who started with belief. He sold books from his garage because he believed the world would read differently one day. That wasn’t a market decision, Jack. That was faith disguised as business.”

Host: The light returned, spilling across the table, illuminating the papers, the figures, the fragile dreams they both fought to define.

Jack: (quietly) “Maybe you’re right. Maybe profit is just proof — not purpose. But proof still matters.”

Jeeny: “Of course it does. But proof without purpose becomes noise. It’s like building a skyscraper with no windows — impressive, but blind.”

Host: Her words sank deep into the room’s silence. Outside, the city continued to breathe, unbothered, unaware — a living metaphor of their argument.

Jack: “You always know how to twist the knife gently.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “I’m not twisting, Jack. I’m reminding. Profit is the body of business, yes — but purpose is the soul. One without the other is a corpse.”

Host: He looked up, finally meeting her eyes, and something in his expression softened — a surrender, or perhaps recognition. The sunlight hit his face, melting the hard lines that ambition had carved there.

Jack: “Maybe we can have both. Maybe profit and purpose don’t have to fight.”

Jeeny: “They never did. Only people make them enemies.”

Host: Outside, a flock of birds broke across the skyline, scattering like dark ink across the bright morning. Inside, the air felt lighter — not resolved, but real.

Jack closed the laptop, the sound sharp but final.

Jack: “Alright, Jeeny. Let’s try it your way. Let’s make something that earns and means.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “That’s all I ever wanted, Jack. Not just a business — a heartbeat.”

Host: The city moved on, but inside that glass tower, something had shifted. Two voices, once divided by profit and purpose, now stood at the same edge — looking not down at the numbers, but forward into the light.

And as the sun rose higher, it lit the room with a quiet, golden promise — that success, when born of both logic and heart, might just be the only kind worth building at all.